Brand 11: Creole Curse

By Neil Hunter

The mysterious disappearance of three women in New Orleans rings alarm bells right up to the steps of Washington itself. As one of the missing girls is the daughter of the powerful and well-connected Oliver Delacort, Jason Brand is ordered to discover the girls’ fate. In a very short time he soon discovers that Crescent City isn’t the prettiest of places. Brand meets with violent resistance from the get-go.
But they picked on the wrong man. Brand is a force to be reckoned with, and with his .45 primed and ready, those standing in his way of justice had better take care ... even those who practice the dark art of Voodoo! Neither gators nor ghosts are going to stop Brand in this blood-soaked adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing
• Release date: Oct 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370598281

Neil Hunter

Neil Hunter is, in fact, the prolific Lancashire-born writer Michael R. Linaker. As Neil Hunter, Mike wrote two classic western series, BODIE THE STALKER and JASON BRAND. Under the name Richard Wyler he produced four stand-alone westerns, INCIDENT AT BUTLER’S STATION, THE SAVAGE JOURNEY, BRIGHAM’S WAY and TRAVIS.

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The mysterious disappearance of three women in New Orleans rings alarm bells right up to the steps of Washington itself. As one of the missing girls is the daughter of the powerful and well-connected Oliver Delacort, Jason Brand is ordered to discover the girls’ fate. In a very short time he soon discovers that Crescent City isn’t the prettiest of places. Brand meets with violent resistance from the get-go.

But they picked on the wrong man. Brand is a force to be reckoned with, and with his .45 primed and ready, those standing in his way of justice had better take care ... even those who practice the dark art of Voodoo! Neither gators nor ghosts are going to stop Brand in this blood-soaked adventure.

JASON BRAND 11: CREOLE CURSE

By Neil Hunter

Copyright © 2016 by Neil Hunter

First Smashwords Edition: November 2016

Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

Editor: Mike Stotter

Text © Piccadilly Publishing

Published by Arrangement with the Author.

La Nouvelle-Orléans, Louisiana

Netta Delacort, twenty years old, a young pretty woman, when she had been alive, was found dead, her body severely mutilated, in New Orleans back alley. She was the daughter of Oliver Delacort, a wealthy and well-connected man, who had reported her missing to the local law two weeks earlier. The local Police, who already had two other missing girls on their hands, were baffled. Delacort, sensing the problems the local law was having, asked for help through his connections in Washington. He had been a big contributor to the election funds that had gone towards President Grover Cleveland’s success in being voted into office, and Delacort made his plea to the very man he had helped.

The President, aware of the strong support he had gained from Delacort and like-minded people, acted on the request and passed it to the man he had recently had dealings with on other matters. He had quickly come to understand the excellent work done by Frank McCord’s covert Justice Department operation, and he called McCord to his office, laid out the details of the problem and asked for McCord’s help.

‘This is a delicate situation. The victims have all come from influential families. The local law appears to be at a standstill. I believe a fresh perspective is called for here. Someone from out of town as it were …’

McCord understood the President’s predicament. The man was still making his mark. He wanted to show his support for the people who had boosted his chances of getting into office and do something positive.

‘I can send a man down to New Orleans, Mr. President. He can look into this and offer assistance to the local law. As you say, fresh eyes on the scene might help. Leave it with me, sir.’

When McCord walked out of the Presidential Office, he had already made up his mind who he was going to send. Maybe not the most diplomatic of his men, but one who would turn over every stone in Crescent City in order to find out what was going on. If there was a way of digging out a crazed killer it needed a man with an edge to do it.

And Jason Brand needed the challenge. Since his return from the assignment in San Francisco, his clash with the Tong, and his partnering with Bodie, Brand had been restless. He had spent time with Victoria Maitland and his son, Adam, but now he was starting to exhibit those caged lion tendencies McCord recognized well.

~*~

‘I received the telegram saying you were coming,’ Inspector Noonan said.

Brand shook the man’s hand, aware of the strength there. Donald Noonan, late thirties, was a solid, handsome man, his light hair just showing gray around the edges. The mustache on his upper lip was neatly trimmed. He regarded Brand with a frankness that could have been intimidating if he had been the kind to take offence.

‘So you’re from the Justice Department? The telegram didn’t go into much detail about you, or your department.’

Noonan waved Brand into one of the chairs in front of his desk. His office was neat. Functional. Books on criminal law in a case against one wall. Louisiana flag in one corner. A few photo images arranged in tidy rows.

‘We don’t tend to make ourselves known in general.’

‘Sounds interesting, Mr. Brand.’

‘Times are it can be.’

‘The telegram hinted you have instructions to …’

Brand held up a hand. ‘Inspector Noonan, I’ll make myself clear. Last thing I intend is to override your authority here. This is your town and I’m a guest. You don’t need some stranger walking in and taking over your investigation. My job is to help in any way I can. I get my orders from Washington and this time they said go to New Orleans and help. My boss got his orders from a higher authority and handed them to me. So here I am.’

Noonan nodded thoughtfully, leaned back in his seat.

‘You want coffee?’

‘That would go down nicely.’

When they had mugs of strong, hot coffee Noonan took a sheaf of papers from his desk drawer and handed it across.

‘Everything we have on the victims. The missing ones and the murdered girl. Backgrounds. As much of their movements before they vanished. And the medical report on Netta Delacort.’

‘This one makes three,’ Brand commented. ‘I’d wager you’re getting some aggravation from the families?’

‘From all sides,’ Noonan said. ‘From the victims’ families and from my superiors. Now I expect it from the families but not my own people. We’re doing our best with what little we have. It’s never enough. They expect miracles and when I can’t produce …’ Noonan buried his head in his mug and took a long swallow. ‘I’m no fool. No one in the station wants to get involved because they’re all worried about being held to account. So they stay out of sight and allow me to take all the blame. That sounds like I’m whining about how hard my job is. I’m not. Just saying how it is. Doesn’t inspire confidence and people in certain quarters are not slow in pointing that out.’

‘It sounds like you’ve been chosen as the whipping-boy,’ Brand said.

‘The higher you get on the promotion ladder the riskier your position becomes. So the best option is to make those under you take the punches. Mr. Brand, I have a good squad of officers with me. We are doing our best here.’

‘You’ll get no criticism from me. And the name’s Jason. Easier than adding titles.’

‘Then it’s Donald. That comes from my family way back. Scotland. But I prefer Don.’

Brand spent a while going over the written reports, noting a number of points.

‘The dead girl was left in an isolated spot. After dark and not found until the next day. She showed marks on wrists and ankles that suggested she had been tied for some time before her death.’

‘If you feel it might be helpful we could go and talk to the doctor who carries out the post mortem.’

‘That might be a good idea. Few questions I need to ask.’

‘We can go now if you want.’

They were preparing to leave when the office door swung wide and a tall, expensively dressed man entered the office. He hadn’t knocked to announce himself. Simply swept in and fixed Inspector Noonan with a sour expression on his lean face.

‘I see you are doing nothing again, Noonan, except sitting around drinking coffee with one of your …’

‘Monsieur Lacroix, as you are so fond of telling me, where are your manners? Is this the way to impress a guest?’

Lacroix rounded on Brand, who had remained in his seat. He looked at him with a haughty expression on his thin featured face.

‘Who is this man?’

‘Ask me politely and maybe I’ll tell you.’

‘How dare you address me so?’

The voice was cultured, tinged with a degree of superiority.

‘Touchy, isn’t he,’ Brand said.

‘I am Victor Lacroix. You plainly have no knowledge of who I am.’

Brand stood, a good few inches taller than the lean man he faced.

‘Jason Brand. I hope the rest of New Orleans comes across as a damn sight politer than you, friend. And, no, I don’t know who you are.’ He glanced at Noonan. ‘Should I be worried?’

‘Only if you feel inclined.’

‘Then there’s nothing more to say,’ Brand said. He stared down Lacroix until the man retreated a step.

‘When you have acquainted yourself with New Orleans, sir, you will understand my position.’

‘Inspector Noonan and I were about to start our investigation into the death of Miss Delacort, so if you’ll step aside we can move out.’

Lacroix’s face flushed. ‘I want to know anything you learn. It is …’

‘Is this feller an officer of the law?’ Brand asked.

Noonan, holding back a smile, shook his head.

‘Then I suggest you don’t interfere with this investigation,’ Brand said. ‘Stay out of the way, mister. Especially my way.’

‘I demand to be kept informed about your progress.’

‘Demand all you want, feller. They have newspapers in this town?’ Brand asked Noonan.

‘Oh, yes,’ Noonan said.

‘There you go then,’ Brand said. ‘You can read about it in the next edition.’

‘Your attitude could bring you a lot of trouble.’

‘Now you’ve got my attention. I don’t like to be threatened. Especially by self-important upstarts like you, Lacroix. I’m trying to figure just what your interest is in all this. When I do maybe we can have another conversation. For now I suggest you leave. Same way you came in.’

‘I am here because of concern over a dead young woman and two other missing girls. As an important member of New Orleans society I am of course interested.’

‘Well I’m impressed all to hell,’ Brand said.

Lacroix turned to leave, pausing to speak.

‘You have made a mistake, sir. Be careful it does not come back at you.’

He strode out of the office, leaving Brand considering what had been said.

‘That’s me put in my place.’

‘That man is a damned nuisance,’ Noonan said.

‘He